As the first snow dusting dissolved off our withered back yard, I knew that from one day to the next, things could change radically. Even during those inexpert early years of motherhood, I knew that.
A perfect autumn suddenly gave way to cold wintry weather as the new school year evolved before us. I felt right on track, anticipating sufficient student-teaching hours to occupy my schedule; my husband, deep into his PHD studies…
Contemplating a good season ahead, I abruptly, became aware however, that this was the month of October and with it came PTA meetings, parent-teacher conferences, and above all, HALLOWEEN! Yes, out there -- threatening from the kitchen calendar, accented with little pumpkins and skulls as reminders -- the last day of October appeared nastily outlined in black and orange crayons.
It seemed amazing a whole year had passed since my failed attempt at sewing triple Chubaka costumes.
Preoccupied with the subject of Halloween attires, I still felt it was up to my children to make the first move, “They’ll let me know soon enough” I thought. “I won’t say a word. They’ll shortly start pondering -- they will change their minds and make them up again -- deciding what they’ll be this year for their Halloween school parades, and for trick or treating as well.”
At the time, I used to survive in ‘motherhood mode’ which supposedly prepared me for producing anything, even smart, identifiable outfits with feathers and sequins, tails, patches, horns and zippers, regardless of my skills at creativity with needle, patterns or scissors.
With their never-ending prattle, the children disputed the possibilities of being a pirate, a princess, a mummy, E.T., a tiger, perhaps. Still with a few days to go to the end of the month, my son approached me first, and then the girls, one by one decreed what they would be for that impending Halloween.
Contemplating a good season ahead, I abruptly, became aware however, that this was the month of October and with it came PTA meetings, parent-teacher conferences, and above all, HALLOWEEN! Yes, out there -- threatening from the kitchen calendar, accented with little pumpkins and skulls as reminders -- the last day of October appeared nastily outlined in black and orange crayons.
It seemed amazing a whole year had passed since my failed attempt at sewing triple Chubaka costumes.
Preoccupied with the subject of Halloween attires, I still felt it was up to my children to make the first move, “They’ll let me know soon enough” I thought. “I won’t say a word. They’ll shortly start pondering -- they will change their minds and make them up again -- deciding what they’ll be this year for their Halloween school parades, and for trick or treating as well.”
At the time, I used to survive in ‘motherhood mode’ which supposedly prepared me for producing anything, even smart, identifiable outfits with feathers and sequins, tails, patches, horns and zippers, regardless of my skills at creativity with needle, patterns or scissors.
With their never-ending prattle, the children disputed the possibilities of being a pirate, a princess, a mummy, E.T., a tiger, perhaps. Still with a few days to go to the end of the month, my son approached me first, and then the girls, one by one decreed what they would be for that impending Halloween.
With squeaky voices teetering on the edge of hysteria, they talked about specific costumes, as I devotedly obliged with my slim talents, and a slimmer pocketbook. I would surely face a chorus of boos, and grumpiness if my creations failed to please their challenging couture tastes.
In a panic frenzy, I did my best to create satisfactory pieces from forgotten costumes tucked away in our “Halloween Box” while acquiring feathery boas, hats and moustaches in the clearance racks of the local drugstore. Their little hands helping in a fury of delight as a patchy-eyed pirate, a mean-looking Satan, and one ballerina costume became that year’s salvation. Late into the night, I worked and improved the old and purchased items -- tucking here, adding there.
In a panic frenzy, I did my best to create satisfactory pieces from forgotten costumes tucked away in our “Halloween Box” while acquiring feathery boas, hats and moustaches in the clearance racks of the local drugstore. Their little hands helping in a fury of delight as a patchy-eyed pirate, a mean-looking Satan, and one ballerina costume became that year’s salvation. Late into the night, I worked and improved the old and purchased items -- tucking here, adding there.
I could now settle down, heart free of heavy remorse, my mission accomplished for this year once more. Now, I could hardly wait till the very next day, when my little goblins all dressed up and ready, flash-lights and goody bags in tow, would stand all aglow in the foyer, calling out, “Hey, Mommy let’s go!”
For years before and past, we always reached into the “Halloween Box”, a magic treasure trove of ribbons and vests, beards and wigs, crowns, boots, plus sequined and beaded skirts coming to our rescue every October 31.
For years before and past, we always reached into the “Halloween Box”, a magic treasure trove of ribbons and vests, beards and wigs, crowns, boots, plus sequined and beaded skirts coming to our rescue every October 31.
As twilight set in on all-hallows-eve, some photographs were taken, baskets ready for sweets, my kids brazen and ready to face the streets. It was so cold outside that stuffed with untold layers underneath their slight costumes, masks, hats and crowns they set off in a riot of chatter, laughter and wonder. Their father trailing some steps behind making sure all went well (he and I took turns each year.)
Donning my black witch’s hat and my warty hooked nose, I turned out the lights and lit up the candles in the cavernous depths of our three huge jack-o-lanterns resting down our front porch steps.
Donning my black witch’s hat and my warty hooked nose, I turned out the lights and lit up the candles in the cavernous depths of our three huge jack-o-lanterns resting down our front porch steps.
I could hear the squeals and prattle as the neighborhood kids transfor
med our street into one miraculously lit passageway of strange looking fellows in all kinds of disguises and cloaks. And I, alive with enchantment, spiked warm cider in hand, sat back by the fire, awaiting the raucous trick-or-treaters, who doubtlessly would be at my door in no time. Through my sheer curtains, I noticed the ambling creatures lighting their way up the steps to our house, their ‘Trick or Treat’ shrieks echoing loudly, as I offered them sweets.I soon realized my kids would be home before I knew it; their bags jam-packed with candy, mirth, and witty tales; their fun trick or treating escapade -- a nostalgic memory soon -- innocently, unconsciously being cherished and saved within the family bond, linked to past, present, and future, through the magic of time.
“Maybe next year, I’ll sew up a storm, making sure to start early in the fall,” I thought.E.W.
med our street into one miraculously lit passageway of strange looking fellows in all kinds of disguises and cloaks. And I, alive with enchantment, spiked warm cider in hand, sat back by the fire, awaiting the raucous trick-or-treaters, who doubtlessly would be at my door in no time. Through my sheer curtains, I noticed the ambling creatures lighting their way up the steps to our house, their ‘Trick or Treat’ shrieks echoing loudly, as I offered them sweets.I soon realized my kids would be home before I knew it; their bags jam-packed with candy, mirth, and witty tales; their fun trick or treating escapade -- a nostalgic memory soon -- innocently, unconsciously being cherished and saved within the family bond, linked to past, present, and future, through the magic of time.“Maybe next year, I’ll sew up a storm, making sure to start early in the fall,” I thought.E.W.
